i'm sick of the way things are going. i'm sick of being enslaved to my mother without ever receiving gratitude. i'm sick of being encarcelated to the walls of my house and the walls of school. i'm sick of doing nothing, other than serving my parents. i'm sick of wishing on stars to get away. i want to be free. i want to get away from the sick lined paper i call my life. to get away from the rigid every day nothingness that eats my life away. to get away from the hours i spend wasting my time, imagining other places where i can be free to be with whomever i choose, whenever i choose. to smell the flowers and count the stars and not have to be preoccupied by things i have to do. to be free. to tear apart the disgusting white paper, so bland and plain just like my life is becoming. to burst into bloom, to spread out my butterfly wings and take on the world in the most beautiful of ways. is that not what i should be doing? im made for something more than reading books about incredible places. i'm destined to see and experience those places. to fly around with my wax wings and dare the sun to melt me. to be immortal. through my music, my writing, my dreams. i need to be free.